Mid-ocean in War-time
(For My Mother)
The fragile splendour of the level sea,The moon's serene and silver-veiled face,Make of this vessel an enchanted placeFull of white mirth and golden sorcery.Now, for a time, shall careless laughter beBlended with song, to lend song sweeter grace,And the old stars, in their unending race,Shall heed and envy young humanity.And yet to-night, a hundred leagues away,These waters blush a strange and awful red.Before the moon, a cloud obscenely greyRises from decks that crash with flying lead.And these stars smile their immemorial wayOn waves that shroud a thousand newly dead!
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